


Domestic; Disturbance

by NeoVenus22



Category: Women's Murder Club (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-19
Updated: 2009-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-04 15:27:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeoVenus22/pseuds/NeoVenus22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>He's sitting on her couch, drinking her coffee, petting her dog, invading her privacy, and he acts like he's doing her a favor.  She wants to scream.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Domestic; Disturbance

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: 1x10, 'FBI Guy'

It's Jill flirting with Ashe that sets Lindsay off. Of course, Jill's flirting with everyone these days. It's phase two of her standard post-breakup game plan. Phase one is the brutal denial and the crippling self-pity, phase two is the 'can't nobody hold me down' flighty flirting. In a few weeks, she'll have settled for some sort of middle ground and be rational about the whole thing, except for the part where she'll meet some guy and insist that she and Lindsay double-date with him and his brother, something like that. Lindsay fears that day will involve John Ashe somehow.

She doesn't like Ashe. He's smug and pompous and irritating as hell, and worse, he knows it and doesn't really care. She has the sneaking suspicion he gets off on her frustration. And he's exceptional at driving her out of her damn mind.

So she doesn't know why exactly Jill lusting after Ashe makes her so crazy. Or why she goes a little more nuts inside every time she sees the slow curve of his lazy smirk and the way their fingers brush as they pass packets of paper back and forth unnecessarily. Lindsay wants to think she's just being overly protective of Jill; she knows Jill's not in the best frame of mind and she knows Ashe will be leaving eventually (or at least, she fervently hopes that Ashe will be leaving, and the sooner the better). But she knows it's not that, not entirely.

She comes home one afternoon to find John Ashe not sitting in a car in front of her place, but sitting on her couch with the sports section in one hand and one of her own coffee mugs in the other. Chipped blue ceramic that she got from the college bookstore a million years ago, and even though she forgot she even had the damn thing, it just feels like another invasion. "What are you doing here?"

"Kiss Me Not Killer. You as a target. I thought we'd established all this."

Lindsay watches in horror as Martha trots over and Ashe pats her head without question. "I meant what are you doing _in my apartment_."

"Twenty-four hour security, Detective Boxer." He's sitting on her couch, drinking her coffee, petting her dog, invading her privacy, and he acts like he's doing her a favor. She wants to scream.

"And you can't do it from your car?"

"It'll be easier this way to tell when you sneak out." He's trying to pass it off as his usual smug posturing, but there's a look in his eye he can't quite manage to hide. Lindsay realizes with fresh aggravation that this isn't an order from on high, this is coming from someone she knows. Jacobi or Jill or Claire or Tom. One of them asked Ashe to step up security. She hates being treated like this.

But then again, she can't exactly resent her friends for loving her.

With resignation, she spits out, "You're sleeping on the couch and I'm not making you dinner."

His lips curl upwards and she resists the urge to punch him.

* * *

She's been living alone for two years now, not counting the handful of months with a dog, and has completely forgotten what it's like to live with another person. Harder still, considering she's trying to pretend like this second person doesn't exist, and he's making a point of staying underfoot.

"He's single, isn't he?" Jill asks, sipping coffee as she perches on the edge of Lindsay's desk, angling herself into a casual sort of pose, one with a distinct 'come hither' undercurrent. Her eyes stay trained on Ashe, who's on the other end of the bullpen, talking with Jacobi. Lindsay feels a mild wave of nausea.

"He certainly acts like it. Dirty dishes in the sink, leaving the toilet seat up..."

This complaint is enough to jerk Jill's full attention to her. "Wait, how do you know this? Is he _living_ with you?"

"He's my own personal shadow," gripes Lindsay.

"How very Three's Company. Do you catch illicit glimpses as he steps out of the shower? Tell me, is the packaging as good as the wrapping suggests?"

"It's business, Jill. I'm not looking to sleep with him."

"Do you mind if I do?"

Lindsay wants to say that she doesn't dictate what Agent John Ashe does, or who, but she can't bring herself to spit out the words. "He's an ass, you know that, right?"

"Yes, but how nicely formed it is," says Jill admiringly.

Lindsay's too busy laughing to realize she doesn't disagree.

* * *

Lindsay's given up ignoring Ashe. It's too difficult, given how ever-present he is, and she figures he's irritating no matter how she treats him, so it's easier to just live with him than keep trying to live around him.

'Live with' is a funny choice of words, it implies so much with saying so little. They've settled into something resembling domesticity. He's started steaming his suits in her bathroom, after discovering (naturally throwing in some condescending remarks) she doesn't have an iron. He keeps a bran cereal in her pantry, something she wouldn't use as fertilizer. He makes fun of her shoes. Martha adores him, constantly snuffling up to his knee and begging with enormous eyes for a good scratch.

For some reason, whenever this happens, Ashe always looks at Lindsay. Not before; he's not asking permission. But during, while he ruffles Martha's fur. This is something else. And for all of her practice at reading people, she can't decipher his expression.

* * *

She wakes up one morning to find Ashe in her kitchen, stripping out of his shirt. His back is to her, and she takes advantage of this without realizing, staring at the flex of his shoulders in the white undershirt, the way it stretches and pulls out of the waistband of his pants, and she realizes Jill is right. Misguided, but unquestionably right. He's hot.

"Is there a reason you're undressing in the middle of my kitchen?" she asks, making sure to sound as snide as possible. Reminding herself that he's a jackass. It's a good way of canceling out any urges she may be having. Not that she is, of course.

"Spilled coffee," he says flatly, lifting up his button down to display the spreading brown stain.

"Oh," she says, and really has nothing to add. She hands him a damp paper towel, but they both know it's like trying to stop a dam with a cork.

He seems to take it as some act of... she doesn't even know what, but he feels compelled to tell her, "I was talking to Detective Jacobi the other day, and..."

"Oh _Jesus_," she says.

"Why are you so damn angry all the time?"

"Is there any part of my life you won't touch?" demands Lindsay. "My dog, my work, you're even trying to date my friends."

"What?"

"Oh, please, don't even bother trying to play innocent. Everyone in the department has seen you flirting with Jill."

"Your blond friend, the DA? I'm not interested."

Lindsay rolls her eyes. "If that's your definition of not interested, I'd hate to see what you do when you're actually flirting."

He has the audacity to snort at this. "I'm not the one with a problem separating my work from my personal life, Boxer."

And there it is again, that sharp desire, that need to hit him. No matter how attractive or half-dressed he happens to be. "Leave Tom out of this," she says, storming for the door. "And don't mess up my kitchen."

* * *

Lindsay comes home one day with a sore arm, a twinge in her leg, and a suspicious stain on her jacket. She takes a shower so blistering that she kills all the hot water and stumbles, red and raw into the kitchen. She's working on step two of edging her way towards being a human being again, the step that involves food in some capacity, but her pipe dreams of a turkey on rye get thrown out the window in the face of something delicious-smelling.

"Nice timing," Ashe says, ladling sauce onto a plate of something. He sets it down on the kitchen table, next to an identical dish. Lindsay stares.

"You made dinner?"

"You didn't look like you'd be capable."

She honestly can't tell if she should be insulted by that or not. He's not wrong, unfortunately.

She slides some food —pasta, unsurprisingly, which is about the level of effort and skill she would expect from him— onto a fork and into her mouth. It's pretty good. She's pretty ravenous.

"Bad day?" he asks idly between bites.

"Could've been worse," she admits. She's beat, and this is a really nice thing for him to do. She throws a tired smile his way, and a, "The food helps."

Ashe grins a little around his fork. It occurs to her that while they've both eaten in this apartment, at the same time, this is the first meal they've shared together.

* * *

She's a ball of nerves when they finally apprehend a suspect and bring him in for questioning. She thought she could handle Kiss Me Not and her regular caseload, but she's bristling with so much anxiety and excitement that she nearly drops her coffee. Jacobi takes her case notes without a word, and she goes to join Tom and Ashe.

"You shouldn't be here," Ashe hisses at her. "If he sees you..."

"We don't even know for sure that he's the guy," she says with a glare, daring him to challenge her, daring him to take this from her.

Tom doesn't weigh in like he normally would, but Lindsay isn't watching him. Her eyes are trained on Ashe's, staring him down until he finally relents, shoulders softening slightly. "Fine. But you're going to stay on this side of the glass, and you're going to let us do our jobs."

She can't believe he's still treating her like an infant. She rolls her eyes.

"I mean it, Boxer. Don't make me go federal on you."

"Please. As if you—"

"Boxer," he snaps, holding up a hand for her silence, which she is surprised enough to grant. "I'm not taking this case from you. I'm just doing my job. Part of which is protecting you." His fingers grazed her shoulder for half a second, connecting them, adding a solidity to his words. "Now, we will nail this son of a bitch, but I need your cooperation."

"Fine," she hisses at him. They both know she's not happy about it, but while she'd go behind Tom's back, or behind Ashe's, she can't do both.

Ashe murmurs a soft thank you, which takes her by surprise, and heads into the interrogation room. Tom lingers long enough to stare her down, study her, but he leaves without saying a word.

* * *

"So shouldn't our favorite FBI guy be joining this little shindig?" Claire asks, pressing a wineglass into Lindsay's hand. Lindsay clings to it, remembering the bottles consumed while she'd tried to make order of this case; always hoping but never entirely believing one day there'd be a victory sip. It actually does taste sweet.

"While I'd like to believe we solved this one all on our own, he was pretty useful," contributes Jill, raising her drink in a silent toast.

They all comply. This is hardly a moment for ego. "Besides," Cindy adds, oblivious as ever once the moment is over, "he does kinda go wherever Lindsay goes."

Claire and Jill smirk at one another and Lindsay drinks to fortify herself. "It's not like we're married. He's just my government-appointed... bulldog, I don't know. That's apt, don't you think? He's irritating. And tenacious. Wrinkly."

"What wrinkles are you seeing?" says Cindy. "Because from where I'm sitting, there's nothing wrong with him."

"Oh, not you too—" Lindsay starts, but Claire cuts her off.

"Lindsay, in case you hadn't noticed, he's a good-looking man. And you two have been doing this dance for too long now."

"'Dance'?"

"Just sleep with him and get it out of your system," says Jill. "If you don't, I will."

"We work together."

"Not after tomorrow," says Cindy.

Lindsay rolls her eyes. "Yes, and that's another problem. He's going back to Washington."

"How is that a problem?" says Jill. "Have a fling, Linds, you deserve it. You're not going to seriously tell me you haven't thought about it?"

"Not to the degree you have," says Lindsay dryly, drinking. The others all exchange guilty glances. "What, all of you? Claire, you're married."

"Doesn't mean I can't recognize an attractive man occasionally. I wouldn't do anything. And neither would he, for that matter. He only has eyes for you."

"That is such crap."

"No, he is unquestionably into you," says Cindy. "I'd take advantage."

"From the mouths of babes..." grins Jill.

Lindsay drains her glass and pours another.

* * *

Ashe is waiting when she gets home. "I took Martha for a walk," he offers.

"She's going to miss you," says Lindsay offhand.

Ashe stares at her for a long moment, or maybe it only feels long because her head is sort of fuzzy.

"I'm going back to Washington," he says.

"Yep." She knows this, and he's lucky her fuzz is the good sort of fuzz, otherwise she'd be irritated by his need to state the blatantly obvious.

"Tomorrow," he says.

"Yep," she says again, waiting for something new.

Ashe slides his arm around her waist, pulls her in before her dulling reflexes have time to react, and kisses her. It's definitely new. It's definitely good.

She thinks of the smirks on her friends' faces, and thinks _screw you_.

She looks at Ashe's face and thinks more or less the same thing.

* * *

Lindsay doesn't think she's been this hedonistic since that first year she was married to Tom. She and Ashe spend the night and most of the morning lolling about in bed, stopping once for a hasty breakfast and once so he can delay his flight a few hours.

But he only delays it. Lindsay goes to work instead of seeing him off, and is so busy that she forgets all about it, until she gets home. Martha paws at the door, anxious to get out, and seems disappointed when there's only one pair of hands to scratch her. It's not the least of the changes, either. The bathroom is finally clean again. There is nothing bran-related in the pantry.

Lindsay doesn't expect to hear from Agent John Ashe again. Maybe a terse, professional email, but if she's being honest, she doesn't see a second date in their future. Claire, Jill, and even Cindy go out of their way to try and cheer her up, but while the apartment returning back to its single person state is a little sad, she's not depressed. Ashe was not the ideal roommate, but she sufficed, she moved forward. And she thinks she's finally moved on.


End file.
